


A Hunter by Any Other Name

by kuumai



Category: Boy Meets World
Genre: Alternate Canon, Child Neglect, Gen, Mild Blood, Minor Topanga Lawrence-Matthews/Cory Matthews, Non-Linear Narrative, Season/Series 05, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuumai/pseuds/kuumai
Summary: Cory produces a napkin from his pocket and hands it to Shawn. Written in pen is a name followed by an address.“Jack Thomas,” Shawn reads aloud. “Only the most generic name possible.”Jack needs a roommate, Cory has a film project for school, and Shawn is caught in the crossfire.
Relationships: Cory Matthews & Shawn Hunter, Eric Matthews & Shawn Hunter, Jack Hunter & Eric Matthews, Jack Hunter & Shawn Hunter, Shawn Hunter & Topanga Lawrence-Matthews
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. yes, these new walls are pretty hard to crack

**Author's Note:**

> (aka a retelling of the first two episodes of season five)

Shawn bounds down the stairs to Chubbie’s and scans the room for his friends. Cory and Topanga are sitting next to each other in one of the booths, and Cory waves Shawn over. Shawn swiftly crosses the room and falls into the seat across from them. 

“You seem cheery today,” Topanga says in greeting.

“Yeah,” Cory agrees. “What’s up with that?”

Shawn throws his hands up. “What can I say? We’ve just started our senior year, so we’re finally at the top of the heap, but it’s not so far into the school year that I have a ton of tests to not study for.” 

Topanga raises an eyebrow at him, but Shawn simply grins. 

“Plus,” he continues, folding his hands in his lap, “I feel like I’m starting to really connect with my dad. It was nice spending the summer with him. You know, when he was actually home.” He takes a deep breath, then reaches over the table to take a handful of Topanga’s fries. “Anyway, enough about me. How was apartment shopping with Eric?” 

“Terrible!” says Cory, looking delighted. 

Amused, Shawn nods and stuffs the fries into his mouth. He’s well aware that Cory doesn’t require any prompting to explain further.

“I took him to a bunch of apartments, and he was way too picky about them. He wanted an avocado-colored fridge for some reason?” Cory puts an arm around Topanga. “And then I was complaining to Topanga about this, and miraculously some guy who’s also going to Pennbrook waltzed in saying that he has a three bedroom apartment and is looking for roommates.”

Shawn nods, trying to look appropriately surprised. It’s really not unusual for the universe to bring Cory good fortune. This sort of thing is basically a daily occurance. 

Cory continues, “I told him about Eric, and he agreed to meet him.” He waves a hand toward the entrance to Chubbies. “He actually walked out just before you got here. Eric and I are going to drop by his apartment later today.”

“I’m glad you finally get to actually kick Eric out of your room,” Shawn says.

“Me too,” Topanga agrees fervently.

“Yeah.” Shawn helps himself to another of her fries. “Now I don’t have to worry about waking Eric, so I can sneak in whenever I want.”

“But you don’t care about waking me up?” Cory asks, at the same time that Topanga says, “No, no, you can’t sneak in whenever you want!” 

“Relax, guys, I’m kidding,” says Shawn. He reaches for the fries, and Topanga pulls them out of his reach with a glare. He pouts, but Topanga is not one to be shaken by pouting, and she puts the plate in her lap. 

Shawn doesn’t feel like keeping up the fake-sulking, so instead he turns the conversation to Cory and Eric again. “So, think Eric’ll get along with this guy? What do you actually know about him?

“Well,” says Cory contemplatively, “I know that he seemed nice, and I know his name and where his apartment is, and… that’s it.”

“I see.”

Cory produces a napkin from his pocket and hands it to Shawn. Written in pen is a name followed by an address.

“Jack Thomas,” Shawn reads aloud. “Only the most generic name possible.” 

Snatching the napkin back from him, Cory says, “Look, it doesn’t matter whether I know anything about him. This was clearly a fated meeting.” He waves the napkin emphatically. “The world knows that this one is gonna be Eric’s roommate, and the world is my friend.”

Shawn leans back in his seat and shrugs. “If you say so, bud.”

After that, they drop the subject of roommates. That evening, however, Cory calls Shawn to inform him that Eric got along with this Jack Thomas swimmingly, and it was definitely fate, and “I told you so.” Shawn tells him to keep dreaming. He says it jokingly, but he means it genuinely. Shawn needs Cory’s dreaming in his orbit. 

* * *

Shawn is nine years old and sitting on the couch, and his parents are arguing, which is nothing new. 

They’ve just moved to the trailer park where most of the extended Hunter family lives, and Shawn’s mom is mad at his dad for drinking or for not getting a job or for both—Shawn hasn’t been paying attention. He would get up and go to his room, but then he’d have to walk in between them, which is probably a bad idea.

“You would think you’d learn your lesson after we had to leave the apartment!” Mom shouts, pacing hastily across the small living space. At least here in the trailer park they don’t get noise complaints when Shawn’s parents argue.

Dad is standing in the kitchen, gripping the counter like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. “Who’s the one that had the apartment in the first place?” he asks.

“Don’t you say that like you showed me some great kindness by lettin’ me live with you. Who’s the one that always paid the landlord? Me!” Mom stops and whirls around, shoving a finger at her chest. Shawn shrinks back into the couch.

Dad takes a couple unsteady steps toward Mom. “We both know where you got that money.”

“Watch it,” Mom says darkly, nodding deliberately in Shawn’s direction. He isn’t sure why she bothers. They never censor their conversations when Shawn’s around.

Dad seems to think the same thing as Shawn, because he laughs and shakes his head. “You’re just about as infuriating as Cynthia,” he says. 

Mom’s eyes flash with anger, and her hands curl into fists. She snatches her purse off of the couch next to Shawn. “I’m going for a walk,” she says, and slams the door behind her, which means she’ll be gone for at least a couple days. 

Dad sighs and stumbles over to the couch. He kicks the coffee table accidentally, sending a magazine to the floor, before flopping down next to Shawn. 

He doesn’t look too angry, so Shawn ventures, “Who’s Cynthia?”

Dad’s gaze snaps over to him like he’d forgotten Shawn was there. “Oh, uh. I was married to Cynthia ‘fore I met your mother.”

Patiently, Shawn inspects the worn rug on the floor in front of them. When it’s clear that his dad isn’t about to offer any more information unprompted, he asks, “Is that where—why Eddie says he’s my half-brother? I thought he was messing with me. I mean, he lives with Uncle Larry, so I thought he must be my cousin, but….”

“Ah, no, no. I mean, Eddie is your half-brother, but Larry is his guardian now. Cynthia was—she wasn’t Eddie’s mother. Uh, she—well, there was—she did have a son, too. Different kid. I could’ve tried to get in contact with her and ask about the boy, but I don’t think she would’ve answered. She don’t want nothing to do with me.” 

Dad goes quiet for a while after that. Shawn comes up with about a million questions in response to his dad’s vague rambling, but by the time he builds the confidence to ask any of them, he looks to the side and sees that his dad has fallen asleep.

Unfortunate. There’s no way Dad will volunteer any more information about either Eddie or this mysterious other sibling when he’s sober. 

Shawn sighs and stands to go straighten out the rug and pick the magazine up from the floor. He supposes he should be surprised to have his dad confirm the existence of two previously unmentioned half-siblings in one night, but Shawn’s known for a long time that his family isn’t what most people consider normal, and that’s fine. 

Still, for as long as he can remember, he’s wanted a brother. Yet now he feels completely numb to the news. Eddie is fine, Shawn supposes, but he only met him recently, and at the moment he’s more like a neighbor than a brother.

And this other boy, Shawn knows nothing about, except that Dad hasn’t been in contact with him or his family, because Cynthia doesn’t like him for whatever reason.

That’s fine, Shawn thinks as he heads to his room. If this Cynthia and her kid don’t want anything to do with Dad, then Shawn doesn’t want anything to do with them either.

* * *

It seems to Jack Thomas that finding a roommate is not usually as easy as walking into the first run-down burger place you find and announcing that you have a three-bedroom apartment.

Jack and Eric are sitting at opposite ends of their couch, having a wonderfully unproductive conversation.

“So….” says Jack. “Uh. Are you sure you don’t know anyone who might…. I mean, no friends from high school who are still in town?”

Eric leans his head on one hand. “I’ve already told you; my only friend is a senior citizen who owns a house, so I don’t think we’ll have any luck there.”

“Cool,” Jack says, slumping. “Great.” He told Eric that he can cover the third person’s part of the rent until they actually find someone, but he would rather not have to do that for very long. 

Eric falls silent, and Jack crosses his arms in front of him. 

After a moment, Eric’s brother, who is standing on the other side of the room and staring through a camera, says, “Don’t you two have anything interesting to talk about?”

“Cory, we don’t even own a toaster,” says Jack, motioning toward the mostly empty kitchen. “Why are you expecting us to have interesting things to do?”

“Yeah,” says Eric, “Can’t you bother someone else for your film class project?”

Cory groans and lowers the camera. “Look, I have exactly two friends. There’s my girlfriend, Topanga, and she’s been working on her history paper for forty-eight hours straight. Plus, I’m scared of her aunt, so no way am I walking around her house with a camera.”

“Topa—what?”

“Yes, we get it, she has an unusual name. The bit is getting old,” Cory says. “Then there’s Sean. And I’ve already learned my lesson about filming where Sean lives. Last time I tried to make a video about him, he ripped up the tape.” Eric snickers at this, and Cory glares at him. “ _ Anyways, _ this is the best I’ve got for my documentary, so hurry up and do something entertaining.”

“Why can’t you film at your own house?” Jack asks. “Don’t you two have a sister?”

Cory seems genuinely floored by this, his mouth dropping open. After a moment, he says, “I… didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah,” Eric says flippantly, “We don’t see much of her unless we really need a B or C story.”

Jack tilts his head and turns to Eric, who is still wearing a bored expression and leaning on his hand. Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’s quickly learning not to question Eric’s antics. 

Cory leaves soon after that, and maybe Jack and Eric haven’t found another roommate, but Jack is content knowing that he finally thought of another topic for Cory’s documentary, and that Cory will finally leave him alone.

At least, he  _ was _ content in knowing that, until he returned home one evening to find Eric in a wetsuit and a snorkel and Cory once again holding his camera, looking frustrated.

As soon as he walks through the door, Cory exclaims, “Jack, will you explain to Eric that if he keeps making up fake hobbies, our reality TV show won’t have any integrity?” 

“I’m not sure reality TV shows ever have any integrity,” says Jack, walking to the kitchen and setting his wallet and keys on the counter. 

“Well, mine does!” Cory insists. “Or it’s supposed to, but Eric is ruining it by pretending to be a scuba diver.”

Jack folds his arms and leans against the counter. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that our actual lives are too boring for you, so I don’t see the problem with a little… embellishing.”

“Thank you,” Eric says emphatically, patting Jack on the shoulder.

“Anyways, I thought you decided to make a documentary about your sister,” says Jack.

Cory waves a dismissive hand. “Ah, that fell through. She took the camera up to the treehouse and threatened to chuck it at the ground unless I promised not to film her anymore. And here we are.”

“Wonderful,” Jack replies.

Cory lifts the camera again, and points it at Jack and Eric. “So… did anything interesting happen in class today?”

“Uh,” says Jack. “I aced my calc quiz?”

“And?”

“Well, if we’re embellishing, I aced my calc quiz and they were so impressed that they made me a professor.”

Cory gives him an unimpressed look.

Jack stands up straighter and claps his hands together. “Alright, Eric, your turn to make stuff up for the camera.” 

He looks to his right, and there stands Eric, holding Jack’s wallet open and staring at his driver’s license.

“Dude!” says Jack, snatching it out of Eric’s hands. “What are you doing digging through my wallet?”

“Jack Hunter?” Eric asks.

“Yes?” Jack replies impatiently. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

“No, I mean, I thought your last name was Thomas.” 

Confused, Jack gapes for a second, then looks down at his license. “Oh. Hunter is my legal last name, but I prefer to go by Thomas. Been planning on changing it for a while, but….” He shrugs and closes the wallet. 

“For why?” Eric asks, suddenly very calm in comparison to his usual eccentricity.

“Thomas is my step-dad’s last name. And my mom’s, now. I thought you knew. I mean, my name is Jack Hunter on the lease.”

“Come on, you know I don’t pay attention to anything,” Eric jokes, but it sounds subdued. 

“Why are you acting so weird about my having a different legal name?” Jack’s shoulders creep up around his neck defensively.

Eric goes quiet for a second, but Jack can tell there’s still something on his mind, so he waits. Finally, Eric says, “Hunter is Cory’s friend’s last name, too.”

“Oh? The one whose name I can’t pronounce? Or the other one—what was it—”

“Sean,” says Eric.

“—Sean?  _ Oh _ .”

Jack’s wallet slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. His knees go weak, and he stumbles back to lean on the counter again.

“Shawn Hunter,” Jack breathes.


	2. it might take a while until I trust you won’t attack

Shawn, age eleven, stands at the edge of Cory's driveway farthest from the basketball hoop.

“Come on, dude, you’re not going to make that shot,” Cory says from next to the hoop, rubbing his nose.

Shawn shoots. The basketball hits the headboard and goes in. When it bounces off the ground, it nearly hits Cory in the face. Yelping, Cory jumps out of the way, then chases the ball down. “That’s—that was a fluke!”

“If you say so,” Shawn responds. He steps away and makes a flourishing motion toward the spot where he previously stood, bowing dramatically. “Your turn.”

Cory pouts, but comes to stand in the spot. He shoots the ball, and it bounces off the rim and nearly hits Cory again before rolling down the alley.

Laughing, Shawn jogs after the ball. “That’s an E for you! I win!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s only an S.”

“Nuh-uh,” Shawn says as he retrieves the ball. “I’m not letting you get away with that excuse twice in a row.” He tosses it at Cory, who catches it against his chest, and he heads back to the driveway.

Cory hugs the basketball and slouches. “This is unfair. I’m not feeling well. And you’re taller than me.”

“Barely. I’m sure you’ll get your growth spurt soon.”

“Not soon enough,” says Cory. “Eric’s voice didn’t drop until he was, like, thirteen, so I’ve probably got a couple more years.”

“Talking about me?” Eric says from the doorway to the kitchen. 

“All good things,” Cory calls, waving a hand placatingly. 

“Of course.” Eric walks over to grab the ball away and rub Cory’s head.

Cory scowls. “Hey! You’ll mess up my hair.”

“I couldn’t mess that up if I tried.”

Shawn snorts at this, and Cory sends him a glare, but promptly sneezes, which only amuses Shawn further.

Meanwhile, Eric is leaning back into the kitchen. “Dad!” he calls into the house. “Come help me destroy the short ones in basketball!” He turns back to Cory and Shawn. “I’m not interrupting a game, am I?”

Shawn folds his arms. “No, no, I was getting bored of beating Cory at Horse anyway.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eric says with a smile as he shucks his leather jacket onto a chair on the porch.

Soon after, Cory’s dad appears, and they play for a while without Cory or Shawn scoring anything—which is mostly to be expected, considering Mr. Matthews can nearly dunk without jumping, but they can usually make at least a couple lay-ups. 

Shawn has the ball, now, and he pivots in place several times, trying to find a way around Eric, who’s marking him. Finally, he shoots, and when Eric jumps to knock the ball out of the air, he also knocks into Shawn. Shawn falls hard on the concrete, and it takes him a second to process the sudden stinging in his left palm and elbow. 

Eric laughs and extends a hand to help him up. “Whoops. You alright, dude?”

Shawn’s still trying to catch his breath, so he ignores the proffered hand and chooses to remain laying on the ground.

“Shawn?” asks Mr. Matthews, concerned. “Did you hit your head?” 

“No,” Shawn says, only then processing that everyone is staring at him. He pushes himself into a sitting position. “Uh, just scraped my arm. It’s fine.” He twists his arm to look at his skinned elbow and winces. So maybe it’s not exactly fine.

“Ooh, that’s a nice scratch,” Mr. Matthews says, patting Shawn on the shoulder. “I’ll go get bandages.”

Shawn is about to insist that it’s fine and that they can keep playing, but he catches a glimpse of blood welling on the heel of his hand, so he shuts his mouth and nods.

Mr. Matthews disappears into the house, and Shawn grows uncomfortable under Eric’s and Cory’s stares. Cory shifts from foot to foot, sniffling yet again, and Shawn’s face turns warm from embarrassment. The stinging in his hand and arm is growing more painful, and between one blink and the next, his eyes grow wet. 

Pulling his knees in toward himself, Shawn stares at the ground in front of him and wills the tears to go away. He’s a sixth grade boy; there’s no reason for him to cry over a simple scrape. 

He’s busy inspecting the concrete in front of him when Eric says “Heads up,” and tosses his leather jacket over Shawn’s head, obscuring his vision. Shawn raises a hand to push the jacket off, but Eric’s hand lands on Shawn’s head and holds it in place.

“Sorry for knocking you over, kid,” says Eric. 

“It’s alright,” says Shawn, his voice muffled. He realizes then that Eric is covering his head on purpose. His face heats up even more, but he can’t help but feel thankful for the semblance of privacy. 

Mr. Matthews reappears a moment later, and Shawn holds onto a shred of his dignity by keeping a straight face as he applies the neosporin and bandages.

A few hours later, the sun has gone down, Shawn is laying stock still in a sleeping bag on the floor of Cory’s bedroom, and Cory’s snores are nearly louder than the nightly noises of the trailer park. 

Usually when Shawn sleeps over, he sleeps by Cory in the bed, but Mr. and Mrs. Matthews don’t want him to do so tonight on account of Cory actually having a fever in addition to the sniffling and sneezing, hence the unusually loud snoring. Of course, Shawn probably wouldn’t catch it. He doesn’t get sick easily, and he told them this, but they wouldn’t budge. 

And so Shawn lays on the floor, unable to sleep. 

It’s not the snoring that’s keeping Shawn awake; he’s used to sleeping through noise. Hunters sleep like the dead, his dad says. It’s not the pain from his bandaged arm. It’s not even the incredibly thin carpet he’s laying on.

Shawn can’t sleep because his parents actually thought to drop him off at Cory’s house this afternoon.

Admittedly, that is a weird reason for being unable to sleep, but it’s true. Shawn is smart enough to understand that his parents can be… inattentive. So he knows that it’s not normal for them to be mindful enough to actually drop him off at Cory’s house before they disappear to God-knows-where. Even sixth-graders with normal families are old enough to stay overnight by themselves. Probably. Maybe. Shawn’s done it plenty before, at least.

Coming home to an empty trailer doesn’t startle Shawn at this point. Sometimes his dad will show up near midnight, stumbling around and speaking like he doesn’t realize how loud he is. Or sometimes Shawn will fall asleep on the couch with no one else home and wake up to his mother burning eggs for breakfast and kissing his cheek before he leaves for school. 

This, however, is something new. Different. Shawn doesn’t have a reference for what to expect from this. It was easy to ignore the worry earlier, when it was still light out and he had Cory to distract him, but now he has nothing but the darkness and his thoughts. So here he is, awake, laying on his back, and drumming his fingers against the floor.

If his dad bothered to bring him to Cory’s house instead of just disappearing, does that mean he’s actually skipping town for a long time? 

He turns onto his right side and squeezes his eyes shut. 

Maybe he would sleep better if he got some fresh air. And walked off some of this nervous energy.

Better yet, he could walk home and sleep there. Isn’t that a charming idea?

Shawn shimmies out of the sleeping bag and has his hand on the latch to the window when a voice from behind him says, “Where you going, Hunter?” Shawn jumps, whirls around, and sends a cup of pencils on the desk clattering to the ground. Cory snores on.

A lamp turns on, and sitting cross-legged on his bed is Eric, smiling innocently. 

Shawn kneels and fumbles to pick up the pencils. “Uh. Sorry,” Shawn says. “Didn’t know you were awake.”

“No worries.” Eric unfolds his legs and meanders toward Shawn. “Can’t much sleep with the foghorn over there.” He gestures in Cory’s general direction, then crouches to pick up the last of the pencils and set them on the desk. 

Shawn stands and clasps his hands together. “So. Uh.”

“Since we’re both awake, wanna sit and talk?” Eric asks as he returns to sit on the end of his bed. 

“Well,” says Shawn. “I was about to, um.”

“About to what?” asks Eric.

Shawn is in unknown territory here. He’s hung out with Eric plenty, but only when the guy feels like beating him and Cory in basketball or something of the sort. It’s never one-on-one, never sit-and-talk. 

“Nothing,” Shawn says finally, swallowing. “Never mind.” He pads across the room and perches on the bed next to Eric.

“Cory’s snoring keeping you up too?” Eric asks.

“Ah, no, it’s, um.” Shawn scrambles for a convincing lie. “It’s just kind of cold. I didn’t realize it would cool down this much tonight, so I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Didn’t I give you my jacket?”

Shawn tilts his head, unsure what that has to do with anything. “I mean, yeah, but that was a while ago.”

“Where did—ah, there it is.” Eric hops up to grab the jacket from where it’s hanging on the desk chair. He tosses it to Shawn, who catches it awkwardly, still favoring his scraped arm. “Here. You keep it.”

Shawn gapes. “You mean like…?”

“Like permanently,” Eric says, nodding solemnly. 

Reverently, Shawn looks down at it. “But this is your leather jacket. It’s your favorite.”

“Not mine anymore. Sorry, kid, I have a strict no-return policy for leather jackets.”

Shawn snorts at that, and Eric reaches over to mess with his hair. “Hey, cut it out!” Shawn says, still laughing. 

He sticks his arms through the sleeves and hugs the jacket around him. It’s way too big, but Shawn loves it anyway. 

“Thanks Eric.”

When Shawn wakes up the next morning, he’s curled in a ball on top of the covers of Eric’s bed, still wearing the leather jacket. He sits up lethargically, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and spots Eric dozing on the floor in between the two beds. He only belatedly remembers that he was supposed to be worried about his parents.

That day, Cory stays home from school even though his fever broke overnight, and when Shawn gets back to the trailer park that afternoon, both his parents are there. At least for that day, everything returns to status quo. Mostly.

The morning Cory returns to school, he and Shawn sit side by side and watch Feeny do his usual routine of walking into the cafeteria and taking a sip from the water fountain.

“You know,” Shawn comments to fill the silence, “It might be nice to have an older brother. Your brother is kind of cool.”

Cory opens his mouth and squints his eyes at Shawn incredulously. “Eric? Cool?” He presses a hand to Shawn’s forehead. “Are you sure you didn’t catch my cold?”

* * *

Cory Matthews has never been able to keep a secret from Shawn, even by his senior year of high school. Except, apparently, today.

Cory’s been fidgeting excitedly and whispering to Topanga all day, and Shawn can’t get him to spill why. 

“So. End of the school day,” says Cory, grinning. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Yep,” Shawn says, shutting his locker. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing—nothing’s up with me.”

Shawn levels an unimpressed look at Cory, who looks away, turning sheepish.

“Really!” Cory says. “Nothing’s wrong! But if something is up, isn’t it fine if I don’t tell you about it?”

“Of course I think that,” Shawn says, “But you, on the other hand, have basically no concept of privacy.” He pulls on his leather jacket, heaves his backpack over his shoulder, and heads down the hallway. Cory hurries after him. 

“Well—well, what if I’ve learned?”

Shawn isn’t inclined to believe that, but he’ll play along until Cory finally says whatever’s on his mind. “Sure. You don’t have to tell me anything that’s not my business.”

In his periphery, he watches Cory turn from weirdly excited to weirdly guilty, biting his lip and lacing his fingers together, which tells Shawn exactly what he already suspects: whatever’s going on is indeed Shawn’s business. But no matter. Shawn can be patient.

They’ve just passed through the doors of the school when Cory asks him to come over to his house, which is nothing unusual, except that that odd, excited look has returned to his eyes.

Shawn quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, sure, bud.”

Cory’s face splits into a grin, and he picks up the pace even though he’s lugging along the camera he’s using for Feeny’s film project. Smiling, Shawn shakes his head and follows Cory down the sidewalk. 

As they head to Cory’s house, Shawn runs through scenarios of what Cory might be keeping from him. Shawn’s birthday isn’t for a couple more months, and he can’t think of any other occasion or holiday for which Cory might be planning a surprise. Has he set Shawn up on a date? But that’s not the kind of thing he would hide from Shawn. 

By the time they’ve reached the front door, Shawn still hasn’t come up with any plausible scenario, so he’s rather curious to see what’s inside. 

And standing in the living room when Shawn and Cory enter the house is… Eric. And some guy Shawn doesn’t recognize. Eric’s new roommate, probably. A bit anticlimactic, in Shawn’s opinion.

Shawn saunters across the living room to clap Eric on the back. “You can’t stay away from home for long, can you, Eric?” he teases. “I thought the reason you moved out was so you wouldn’t be hanging around here all the time.”

“Ah, come on, man,” says Eric. “You’ve missed me.”

“If you say so,” Shawn replies amiably. There’s a few seconds of silence in which Shawn becomes uncomfortably aware that the three others are simply standing around the room and watching him, and that no one seems too keen on introducing him to the new guy.

Shawn glances over at Cory, who is now holding up his camera and grinning, and clears his throat. “So. You must be Eric’s roommate,” he says.

The guy opens his mouth, closes it, and nods. Cory insisted that Eric and his roommate got along like a forest fire, but if that’s true, Shawn is a little shocked. He seems rather… quiet and nervous. Nothing like Eric.

“The infamous Jack Thomas,” Shawn says with a toothy smile. “Shawn Hunter. Good to finally meet you.” He steps toward Jack and holds out a hand. 

Jack shakes it and says, “It’s, uh. It’s actually Jack Hunter.”

Shawn swallows, his smile slipping. Cory is still obliviously happy behind his camera. Shawn forces a laugh. “What a coincidence.” 

“I think we’re brothers,” Jack spits out quickly.

If this is a joke, Shawn thinks to himself, Jack has a killer poker face. 

Shawn looks to Cory again. “Why are you filming this? No one gave me a script. Is this like an improv sketch?”

“I’m not acting, Shawn,” says Jack, and the way he slips Shawn’s name in so casually leaves a bitter taste in Shawn’s mouth. 

“This isn’t funny,” he snaps. Eric lays a hand on Shawn’s shoulder, and Shawn stumbles away from him, accidentally kicking the coffee table. His shin stings from the impact, and it’ll probably bruise later, but he ignores it. His jacket suddenly feels suffocating. “This is what you were excited about all day?” Shawn asks, glaring at Cory. 

“You—I thought you’d be happy, Shawn,” stutters Cory. “You’ve always wanted a brother.”

Shawn snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“No, you have. I know you have. Or you used to.”

“Things change,” says Shawn.

“What things?” asks Cory, finally tilting the camera down so Shawn can see his face. “What changed?”

“Whatever.” Shawn rolls his eyes and turns to Jack again. “Your mom’s name?”

“Um, Cynthia.”

Of course it is. “Look, man, I don’t know why you thought you could waltz into my life after years of not contacting me or my dad.”

“You didn’t contact me either,” Jack says weakly, folding his arms around himself. 

“Because I didn’t want anything to do with you. I didn’t—I didn’t even know your name, and I was happy to keep it that way. All I know is that your mom left my dad. That’s all I need to know.”

Jack’s eyes narrow, and he tenses like he’s prepared for a fight. Shawn feels a distant satisfaction that he finally broke through Jack’s sheepish nervousness. “My mom,” Jack growls, “Was not in the wrong.”

“She left him!”

“He deserved it!” Jack yells.

Rage swells in Shawn’s chest and crawls up his throat. He chokes it down. “Okay, I don’t know why you never reached out to us, and I don’t care. I’m not going to stand around and listen to you badmouth my dad. I’m not. And—and I’m sure you and Eric are great roommates, and I won’t try to get in the way of that, but never speak to me again. Got it?”

Jack’s jaw tightens, but Shawn doesn’t wait for him to agree. 

“So, Cor,” Shawn says. “Was that enough drama to make your film project interesting?”

Cory frowns with pity, which only makes Shawn angrier. “Shawnie,” he says softly.

Shawn shoulders past Cory and out of the house. 


	3. running away just made sense

It’s been a few months since that weird evening where Eric gave Shawn the leather jacket, and Shawn still hasn’t gotten around to asking more about the half-brother he heard about a few years ago. 

See, here’s what Shawn has realized: if he wants a brother, why should he try to learn more about some boy he’s never met, whose name he doesn’t know, when he has a half-brother living a couple trailers over? Shawn has never been particularly fond of Eddie, but in truth, he doesn’t really know the guy. Maybe he judged Eddie too quickly. 

Shawn begins following Eddie and his high school friends around after school. They include him when they play basketball at the park and even when they just sit by the creek under the bridge and talk. Cory is always complaining that Eric is too busy with friends and girls to spend time with him, so Shawn thinks he might’ve gotten lucky to have a brother like Eddie.

Eddie laughs at Shawn’s jokes. Sam teases Shawn for being shorter than all of them, but it’s all in good fun. When Tom brings cigarettes for everyone to smoke under the bridge, they don’t make fun of Shawn for saying no. “Your loss,” says Tom, shrugging.

One afternoon, Shawn offhandedly asks if they have jobs. 

Sam sighs and lays back on the concrete as he says that yes, he works shifts at Shawn’s Uncle Mike’s shop, but Shawn already knows that. Tom laughs and says that no one has time for a job, and Eddie agrees.

“Then how did you get the cigarettes?” Shawn asks.

Tom laughs again, but this time it’s hesitant, like he thinks maybe Shawn isn’t trying to be funny. He isn’t. 

Eddie doesn’t wear glasses, but he tilts his head down and looks at Shawn like he’s glancing over a pair of glasses. “Are you new here, kid?” he asks. “He took ‘em. They aren’t supposed to sell cigarettes to guys our age, anyway.”

Under all the attention that’s suddenly turned on him, Shawn flounders. “Took them? Isn’t that… um, bad?”

This time, it’s not just Tom that laughs; they all do. Snorting, Eddie pushes Shawn’s shoulder, and Shawn bumps into the concrete wall behind him.

“Boy, you act like you’ve never been to the Pink Flamingo before,” says Sam. “What kinda kids are you hanging out with at school that make you care whether Tom takes a measly pack of cigarettes?”

Shawn thinks of Cory and doesn’t say anything. Just rubs the spot where his arm hit the wall and remembers the comment Mr. Matthews made the other day that teenage boys are always so keen to roughhouse.

A few weeks later, Shawn overhears the guys’ plan, and the thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to be there to hear it. Eddie told him they would be meeting under the bridge Sunday night, but Shawn said he wouldn’t be able to go because he was having dinner with his parents.

But then his dad doesn’t get home until past ten, and his mom doesn’t get home at all, and Shawn doesn’t feel like watching his father stumble around and knock things over, so he goes to the bridge. 

The tall grass along the creek tickles his ankles as he trudges his way there. As he gets closer, he can make out Tom saying “It’ll be so simple. No one’ll see. We could make a fortune off of it.”

It’s dark enough that no one sees Shawn until he steps under the bridge and Sam’s flashlight illuminates his face. “Make a fortune off what?” he asks, flipping onto the ground next to Eddie. 

Eddie claps him on the shoulder and smiles. “Look, the kid decided to show up!” Shawn grins at him.

“A fortune off a computer from the library,” Tom explains.

Shawn feels his eyes go wide. “For real?”

“For real,” says George, in a hushed, excited tone. 

A bug buzzes by Shawn’s ear. He doesn’t say anything.

Eddie rolls his eyes and groans. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ll be a downer about this, too.”

“I won’t!” Shawn insists. “I just….”

“It was just a pack of cigarettes, boy,” says George, looking equally exasperated. “No one’ll miss them.”

“Yeah, I know, I get that,” Shawn says. “But this is different. People use the computer at the library for important stuff.” 

“Like what? Studying?” Tom says incredulously. “Because we all know little Shawnie here is a straight A student.”

Shawn frowns. “I don’t know about this.”

“Told you you shouldn’t have invited him, Ed,” grumbles George. 

“You don’t have a say in whether we do this,” Eddie says to Shawn, quiet and serious. “Are you with us or not?”

Worrying his lip between his teeth, Shawn repeats, “I don’t know.” 

Shawn doesn’t realize what’s happening until Tom is already behind him and twisting his arm up his back. 

“Dude,” Shawn says through his teeth. “Cut it out.” He looks toward Eddie, expects him to tell Tom to let go, but Eddie is sitting still and staring at him with a cold calm.

“Are you going soft on us?” Eddie asks.

“No!” Shawn says, and he’s sure it’s the right answer, but Tom pulls his arm further, and Shawn winces.

“Are you going to tattle, Shawnie?” teases Eddie, his lips quirking up.

“No, no,” Shawn gasps, “I’m not.”

Eddie smiles, and Tom releases him, and Shawn swallows at the pain in his arm. 

“Good,” says Eddie. Then the boys settle back into their circle and continue chattering, and Shawn wonders if he dreamed the whole thing.

It’s only in the morning, when his forearm is bruising and he can’t rotate his shoulder all the way around, that Shawn realizes he has no idea at what point everything went wrong.

But, no, it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt much. It’s what he gets for going soft. He won’t make that mistake again. The weather is cooling off, anyway. He can wear long sleeves and no one will be any the wiser.

For the rest of the week, none of the guys mention anything that happened Sunday night. When they play knockout on the basketball court one afternoon, Shawn wins one of the rounds, and Eddie ruffles his hair and congratulates him. 

Shawn groans and fixes his hair, but he can’t suppress his smile.

Then Thursday night rolls around, and Shawn finds himself standing at the back door to the public library, heart racing. 

Eddie didn’t technically force him to come along, so Shawn isn’t entirely sure how he ended up here. But however it came about, he’s here now, holding the door open for Eddie, Tom, and Sam, who are grabbing a computer. He’s supposed to watch to see if someone catches them, but he has no idea what to do if anyone does show up, so he’s a little nervous. Just a little. 

Fortunately, Sam returns fairly quickly, lugging a computer, and Eddie and Tom follow, whispering with hushed excitement. Shawn’s heart is pounding too loudly for him to make out what they’re saying. No one is carrying a monitor, so he’s not entirely sure why they needed four people to do this, but he’s certainly learned not to question the others.

Once everyone is outside, Shawn carefully shuts the door, then makes to follow them. Something stops him and he nearly goes sprawling to the ground. His shoelaces are stuck in the door. He tugs on the door, but it’s locked.

“Guys,” Shawn whispers. None of them turn around or even slow down. Louder, he says, “Someone help me. I’m stuck.”

Eddie stops and turns, shushing him. 

“My shoelaces are stuck,” Shawn explains.

Exasperated, Eddie huffs and walks over to him. When he pulls on the door, it opens.

Shawn’s mouth falls open. “I swear it didn’t open when I tried.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says. He grabs Shawn’s collar and pulls him in the direction of the trailer park. Tom and Sam are already long gone.

Eddie keeps hold of him until they’re on the outskirts of the Pink Flamingo, at which point he lets go and glares at Shawn. “You idiot!” he whispers. “Someone could have heard you.”

Shawn folds his arms in front of himself. “Would you rather I stayed quiet and was stuck there all night?”

In the dark, Shawn can barely make out Eddie rolling his eyes. “You wouldn’t have been stuck there all night; the door was unlocked. You’re insufferable.”

“I don’t get it,” says Shawn. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re the problem!” Eddie says, volume rising. “Did you know the other guys didn’t want to let you keep hanging around us? But I told them you’d be cool.”

“What?”

“Yet you keep causing problems, over and over again. It’s so annoying. Maybe they were right.”

Shawn glares. “I didn’t force you to let me hang around.”

“But I didn’t ask you to, either!” Eddie crosses his arms. “Look, I get you want to be cool and hang out with the high schoolers, but maybe stick with your grade school friends for now.”

“I wasn’t talking to you because I wanted to be cool.” Shawn’s mouth has gone dry, and he swallows. “I did it because you’re my brother.”

“Hardly,” Eddie scoffs. He turns away, about to head back to the trailers. Shawn puts a hand on his arm to stop him. 

“Don’t touch me,” Eddie growls, tugging away.

Shawn holds fast. “But I’m not done talking about this.”

Eddie whips back around, and all of a sudden Shawn is stumbling backwards, and the world is spinning, and his nose stings. 

It takes a moment for Shawn to realize that Eddie punched him. He’s stunned to silence, and between the darkness and his blurred vision, he can’t see Eddie’s expression, but he can see that Eddie is still standing there, at least. 

They’re both still for what feels like an hour. Shawn’s ears ring, and he tastes blood on his upper lip. 

Then Eddie is reaching toward Shawn, and Shawn leans away, but he’s only putting a careful arm around Shawn’s shoulders. He guides Shawn to Uncle Larry’s trailer, and Shawn finds himself grateful for someone to lean on, because he’s distantly dizzy. 

“I’m sorry, kid, I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers. He helps Shawn sit on the ground outside of the trailer and disappears inside. Shawn leans forward and watches with detached curiosity as blood drips from his nose onto the dirt. 

Eddie returns with a wet rag and kneels carefully in front of Shawn to clean his face. Shawn glances up at Eddie and can’t reconcile this gentle, worried boy with the person who watched on coldly as someone hurt him, with the person who hit him. 

“I’m so sorry, bud,” says Eddie. “I wasn’t thinking. Looks like it’s not broken. Your nose, I mean.” He puts a hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “You won’t tell anyone about this, right? You won’t tell about anything? Yeah?”

Shawn cautiously puts a hand to his face. His nose has already stopped bleeding.

“I won’t tell,” Shawn says, and the words sound weird and buzzy, like they’re far away from him.

Shawn doesn’t feel much more present until he finds himself in his room laying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Tears of frustration well in his eyes. He doesn’t get it. He’s mad at Eddie, and he doesn’t get why. Eric knocked Shawn over and Shawn was never mad at him. It’s the same thing. Eddie apologized. Shawn should just get over it. He doesn’t understand why he feels so… hurt. 

The next morning, Shawn stupidly convinces himself that the injury isn’t too noticeable. He’ll only make Cory more concerned if he skips, because he never gets sick and he never skips without telling Cory first. So he shows up to Mr. Feeny’s class and slips into his chair seconds before the bell. 

Shawn is busy staring down at his desk and not paying attention to what’s happening when Cory turns to him and says, “Right, Shawn?”

“Uh, right,” says Shawn, rubbing his neck and hunching over his desk. 

“Come on,” says Cory. “You have nothing else to add?”

“Just.” Shawn waves a hand. “Quit interrupting Mr. Feeny’s lesson.”

“Right,” Cory drawls. “Good one, Shawn.”

Shawn manages to make it through the rest of class without making Cory any more suspicious. When the bell rings, everyone is filing out of the classroom and not paying attention, and Shawn finally looks up. But, of course, Cory is always paying attention. 

“Dude!” Cory exclaims. “Your nose is super swollen! And also purple. That’s not normal.”

Shawn stuffs his pencil and notebook away. “What are you talking about? It’s totally normal. The purple is a new trend my sister Stacy showed me. Eyeshadow but underneath the eyes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Totally normal.”

Cory rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I’m not that stupid. And I know by now you don’t actually have a sister named Stacy. What happened?”

Shawn opens and closes his mouth, then inspects a stain on the carpet. “I got what I deserved,” he mutters. 

“Who did this to you?” 

“None of your business.”

Frowning, Cory sticks a finger at Shawn’s chest. “If it involves you showing up to school with a balloon nose and talking all nasally, it is my business.” Cory backs off. “We should tell Mr. Feeny.”

Shawn laughs. “We’re not telling Mr. Feeny.”

“What are we not telling Mr. Feeny?” asks Mr. Feeny.

Shawn nearly jumps. Mr. Feeny is standing directly behind Cory. 

“How do you always hear everything?” whines Cory. 

“You and Mr. Hunter are having a conversation at a normal volume in my empty classroom.”

“Right,” Cory says.

“Mr. Hunter,” Mr. Feeny begins, “I don’t mean to doubt the capacity of sixth grade boys to be reckless or overadventurous, but that injury does not look like something that you could acquire on your own.”

Shawn groans and falls back into his chair. “That’s because it isn’t—isn’t that.”

“Did a student at this school do this to you?” Mr. Feeny asks. 

“No, sir.”

“Did your father do this to you?”

Shawn glares up at him. “No, sir.”

Cory startles and looks between the two of them. “Why would—”

“Mr. Matthews,” Mr. Feeny says. “I’m talking to Mr. Hunter.” He turns to Shawn. “Should I ask him to leave?”

“No,” Shawn says quickly, folding his hands in his lap. “No, Cory stays.”

Cory sits as well, looking smug.

Mr. Feeny nods, and when he speaks again, it’s carefully calm. “Mr. Hunter, did someone in your family hurt you?”

Shawn glances down and to the left, then looks straight into Feeny’s eyes. “My dad didn’t hurt me,” he says. “Neither did my mom. And I don’t have any siblings. Respectfully, Mr. Feeny, I wish you wouldn’t imply bad things about my dad.”

Feeny nods. “I apologize, Mr. Hunter. I meant no disrespect to your parents, but I did need to know.”

“Then who actually did this?” asks Cory.

Shawn leans back in his seat. “The kids at the trailer park play rough, but I’ll stay away from them from now on. And at least he apologized this time.” 

“This time?” Cory squeaks. “This has happened before?”

Oops. Shawn stands and gathers his things. “Not—not anything this bad. Anyway, it’s what I get ‘cause I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

Shawn makes toward the door, but Cory stands and grabs him by the shoulders. “No, it’s not ‘what you get.’ That’s not how it works.”

Mr. Feeny says, “Mr. Hunter, you don’t deserve this. No one does.”

Shawn stares at his shoes. “Can I go to class now?” he asks.

“Ah.” Mr. Feeny clasps his hands together and walks back to his desk. “Of course. Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“No. I know it looks bad, but it really is fine.”

Feeny nods, and returns from his desk with a slip of paper, which he hands to Cory. “This is for your next teacher, so he won’t count you tardy. And Mr. Hunter, if this keeps happening, tell me or your parents, okay?”

Shawn nods without meeting his eyes and snatches the note from Cory. “Let’s go,” he says, and walks out without looking to see if Cory is following.

It doesn’t keep happening, but he probably wouldn’t have told anyone either way. 

* * *

Shawn finds himself alone in his trailer, laying on the couch and sulking. He’s inspecting the purpling bruise on his shin when a knock sounds at his door. Honestly, he’s surprised it took this long for Cory to show up. He ignores the knocking anyway. 

“Shawn!” Cory’s calls through the door. “Shawn! It’s me!” 

Shawn remains resolutely silent. 

“Come on, Shawn. I need to talk to you.”

Shawn groans and presses his face against the couch cushions to muffle the noise. Surely even the stubborn Cory Matthews will go away eventually.

“Shawn,” commands Topanga, “you come open this door right now!”

Shawn is up and opening the door in seconds. Cory’s frowning face greets him. 

“What, so you listen to her but not to me?” Cory complains.

“Yeah, obviously,” says Shawn, stepping to the side to let Cory and Topanga into the trailer. 

“Shawn,” Topanga begins, “Cory told me what happened with your brother.” 

“Half-brother,” Shawn says reflexively. He huffs and sits back on the couch. Cory and Topanga sit on either side of him. “Look,” he says, “If this is supposed to be some kind of intervention—“

“I’m sorry,” Cory interrupts.

“Um,” says Shawn. 

“I was stupid for making the whole thing about my film project. I was too focused on making the video, and I didn’t consider your feelings. I thought the whole thing would be a happy surprise, but I see now that it was… not that. I should have just talked to you about it. And I definitely shouldn’t have filmed the whole thing. So I’m sorry.”

Shawn is still floundering for words by the time Cory finishes speaking. “I, uh, it’s, I mean,” he says, “I accept your apology.”

Topanga turns toward Shawn slightly, and says, “Now, I know this isn’t what you want to hear—“

Shawn groans and covers his face with his hands.

“—but I think you should talk to Jack. He seemed sorry for the argument. He looked really torn up about it.”

“You talked to him?” Shawn asks incredulously. “It’s only been, like, a few hours since I left.”

“He wants another chance to talk to you,” she continues, “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“So you’re on his side now,” Shawn says, glaring at her.

“No,” Topanga says adamantly. “I’m with you no matter what you do. I’m just telling you, as your friend, what I think you should do.”

Shawn raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m being serious,” she insists. 

“He insulted my dad.”

“He can’t apologize if you don’t give him a chance to speak to you,” Cory says, putting a hand on Shawn’s elbow. 

Shawn fiddles with his hands. “Yeah, yeah.”

Topanga puts an arm around him and leans her head on his shoulder. Shawn tilts his head to rest on hers. “Do you think you’re up to go to his and Eric’s apartment now?” she asks. “It kinda seemed like Jack wouldn’t sleep tonight for how anxious he is about this whole thing.”

Shawn sighs, then pulls away from Topanga and stands. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

The sun is drifting below the horizon by the time the three of them arrive at the apartment. Shawn thought that he had properly cooled down, but standing at the door, he immediately tenses up, adrenaline raising his heart rate. 

“Hey,” says Cory. “Topanga and I will wait out here in the hallway. We’re here for you, yeah?” 

Shawn takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” He knocks on the door, and it opens almost immediately.

“Shawn,” says Jack.

“Jack.”

“Uh, come in.” Jack awkwardly steps to the side and ushers Shawn in.

Shawn does so, and lingers by the couch, unsure if he should sit.

Jack walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. “You—do you need anything? Water? Or, uh, we have soda, too.”

“I’m good,” Shawn says quickly. 

“Right. Sure.” Jack closes the fridge and wipes his hands on his jeans. “That’s—that’s a nice jacket.”

“Thanks. Eric gave it to me, actually. Long time ago. By the way, where is…?”

“Oh.” Jack gestures toward the hallway. “Eric’s in his bedroom.”

“Cool.” Shawn swallows. Shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry for yelling. And for insulting your father. Our father? Um. To be clear, I still think that my mom was right to leave, but… I don’t know Chet. All I know about you two is what my mom has told me, which isn’t much. So I was out of line.”

“Well,” says Shawn. “I was being hostile, too. So.”

Jack gestures jerkily to the couch, and they both sit. “You said you didn’t know why I never reached out to you before. My mom wouldn’t let me. All I knew was Chet’s name, your name, and that when Chet and my mom were together, they lived in Philly. She wouldn’t tell me much else. I’m not even sure how she knew about you, since you were born after they, you know.” Jack nervously picks at the fabric on the arm of the couch. “Part of the reason I chose to go to Pennbrook is because I figured that might be the only way I could ever meet my biological father. Or you. To be honest, I thought it was crazy. There was no way I’d actually just… run into one of you on the street. And if I did, I wouldn’t have recognized you. Then Eric started talking about Cory’s friend, Shawn Hunter…. It was… wild. It was exactly the miracle I’d hoped for. And I’m so sorry that our meeting went so poorly. I know you said you don’t want a brother, but if you ever—I don’t know. I’m here. I want to be here.”

“I have another half-brother,” Shawn says finally, staring at the floor. 

“Yeah?”

“He lives near me. He punched me in the face several years ago. Don’t really talk to him much anymore.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jack says. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t ever punch you in the face.”

Shawn snorts, the edges of his mouth turning up in an almost-smile. He goes silent for a moment, then sobers up again. “Cory was right. Before that happened, I wanted an older brother more than anything.”

Turning toward Shawn, Jack says, “If you still want one, you got one.”

Shawn finally looks up to meet Jack’s eyes. He takes a deep breath, and exhales it slowly. 

“Okay.”


End file.
